


Oh Baby I'm a Fool For You

by nu_breed



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-17
Updated: 2011-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nu_breed/pseuds/nu_breed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Pinchhit for unrequited1984 for Glompfest, I tried to get as many of your likes as I could, so we have jealous!boys, miscommunication and laughter, the gang shaking their heads at the obliviousness, happy Uther, and porn/happy endings. Infinite thanks to hermette and ella_bane, who held my hand the whole way and wielded their beta whips wonderfully, and nympha_alba for wrangling my misplaced commas.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Oh Baby I'm a Fool For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unrequited1984](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=unrequited1984).



> Pinchhit for unrequited1984 for Glompfest, I tried to get as many of your likes as I could, so we have jealous!boys, miscommunication and laughter, the gang shaking their heads at the obliviousness, happy Uther, and porn/happy endings. Infinite thanks to hermette and ella_bane, who held my hand the whole way and wielded their beta whips wonderfully, and nympha_alba for wrangling my misplaced commas.

Arthur Pendragon is used to getting what he wants. He's had the best education that Daddy's money could buy, dated some of the world's most beautiful people, and has a job that both pays disgustingly well and has made him and his clients more famous than God. But none of that seems to be at all important right now, because there is someone currently the centre of attention in the weekly staff meeting, and it isn't him.

Gwaine Fletcher-Jones is tall, gorgeous and makes jokes like they are the most natural thing in the world. Arthur is completely crap at making jokes, he always forgets the punch line, and the only one he remembers is that dreadful one about the Irish tap dancer that Morgana taught him when he was a child.

"Isn't he gorge?" Morgana whispers to him. "It was him that single-handedly brought Take That back together, you know."

"Oh please," Arthur hisses back, "everyone at that bloody firm thinks they single-handedly brought them back together, when really it was Robbie and Gary admitting their lifelong feelings for each other that did it."

"You and your little conspiracy theories. Anyway, what do you think of him?"

"Wouldn't kick him out of bed," Arthur admits, "but he'd have to not speak. He's really fucking obnoxious."

Gwaine is currently regaling the room with a story about how he ended up locked outside his hotel room in Belize, naked, armed with nothing but a hand towel. Every eye in the room is fixed on Gwaine, even Merlin's.

Merlin is never impressed with flashy, rich and loud. Arthur would never admit it, but Merlin is sometimes the only person Arthur can bear to be around for more than five minutes at a time. It's his honesty, and his lack of any kind of obsequiousness that Arthur finds so refreshing.

And his eyes. And his cheekbones. And — fuck.

"Wouldn't mind being his hand towel," Merlin says, grinning at Morgana.

"Oh for — Thank you, Merlin," Arthur grimaces, "because I really didn't want to eat lunch today. Don't you have work to do? What do I even pay you for?"

"To insult you and keep your life interesting. Besides, you don't pay me, your father does." Merlin grins even wider, and it makes Arthur warm all over.

"So," Gwaine cuts in, "where's the best place to eat around here?"

"There's a great little sandwich bar around the corner," Merlin offers. "I could show you if you like?"

Arthur wants to punch Gwaine in his pretty face. Hard.

***

 

"I don't like him," he tells Morgana a few days later, over a huge glass of chardonnay. "He's arrogant and untalented. And he has stupid hair."

Morgana chokes back a laugh. "Right. It wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you don't like the way he looks at Merlin, would it? Not liking someone else noticing him?"

"What's to notice?" Arthur takes a huge gulp of his wine. "He's a skinny git with big ears, whose insubordination is the bane of my existence. That's the extent of how much I notice Merlin."

Morgana groans, picks up the menu, and hits Arthur on the back of his head with it.

"Ow! What the hell was that for, slag?"

"First of all," Morgana starts, "don't be such an arse. Secondly? Perhaps if you would just admit you fancied Merlin, we could all be spared this ridiculous farce which I like to call 'Arthur Pendragon's three years of denial'. Hmmmm?"

Arthur drains his glass. "I am not in denial. I just — look — if I did happen to have feelings for Merlin, it would be completely pointless, wouldn't it? I mean, nothing can ever come of it, so I'd rather — just not, okay?"

"I knew it!" Morgana looks far too pleased with herself. "And you're an idiot, Arthur. What do you mean nothing can ever come of it? You're both adults. You're both —"

"If you say that we're both gay? I swear, Morgana, I will throw my glass of water in your face."

Such a typical breeder's response. Just because Merlin and Arthur both like cock, it doesn't mean that they have anything remotely in common. And Arthur really needs to not think of Merlin and cock in the same sentence, because his is all of a sudden showing a great interest.

"Can we just change the subject?" Arthur pleads. "Your concern is noted, but completely unfounded. I am not remotely interested in my assistant."

If he says it enough times, maybe he'll believe it, too.

***

 

The annual Christmas party is always the biggest social event in Camelot PR's calendar. The social committee, which consists of Morgana and whatever hapless individuals stay too late at the first Friday night drinks in January and find themselves 'volunteering', spend nearly a year and an obscene amount of money preparing for this one night. Arthur thinks it really is a complete waste of time and money, considering all everyone does is get insanely drunk and some sod always vomits expensive champagne on a carpet that Morgana (or more accurately, Uther) has to spend hundreds of pounds cleaning.

The theme this year is "A Very Dickens Christmas" and Arthur tries to feign enthusiasm when Morgana tells him about her "Slutty Scrooge" costume. It's even sluttier in person than he imagined from her description.

"I'm afraid the firm's going to be brought up on sexual harassment charges!" Arthur hisses. "That nightgown's so short I can see your —" He waves his hand in the vicinity of her hemline.

Morgana pets him on the head. "It's alright, Arthur. You can say the word, it won't hurt you. Vagina. See how easy it is?"

Arthur turns green and tries to speak, but nothing comes out. He grabs a half-empty bottle of Veuve from one of the waiters and promptly polishes off the entire thing.

"Oh God." Merlin comes rushing over. "What did you do to him?"

Morgana smirks. "My brother seems to be traumatised by both the length of my costume and the fact that I said the word," she whispers, "vagina."

"Arthur," Merlin says, "we've been through this before. They do not actually have teeth. It's okay. You're okay."

Arthur glares at Merlin. "Patronising wanker. It's not — girl parts I have a problem with, it's my sibling talking about hers. Something I never ever need to hear again," he warns. "What are you supposed to be, anyway?"

Merlin is dressed in three quarter-length trousers, cut off and fraying below the knee, and he's carrying a cane.

"I'm Tiny Tim," he replies, and he looks so pleased with himself that Arthur feels his chest ache with affection.

It doesn't last. Gwaine, who is dressed as Fagin from Oliver Twist, comes up behind Merlin and growls. "Would you like some sweeties, little boy?"

Arthur hates Gwaine a lot.

"Speaking of sexual harassment," Morgana says, and Arthur just stares daggers at her, trying to ignore the fact that Gwaine is leaning into Merlin, and Merlin isn't moving away, instead he's laughing and practically batting his lashes.

"You know," Gwaine's voice is low and sexy and Arthur wants to grab Merlin's cane and kneecap him right then and there, "there's mistletoe."

"You are such a slut," Merlin says. "Maybe later. If you're lucky." He winks at him, and Arthur starts to sway from too much champagne and too much of everything else, and he feels like he might be sick.

Merlin likes Gwaine. He thinks Gwaine is funny and sexy and hot and funny and —

"I have a joke!" he blurts out.

"Oh. Oh, Arthur, no," Morgana says, looking very concerned.

"Arthur," Merlin takes him by the arm, "have you eaten something? Perhaps you should."

"What happened to the Irish tap dancer?" Arthur asks, slurring his words. Oh yes. Very drunk.

"He fell in the sink," Merlin says, flatly.

If Gwaine had been the one to tell it, Merlin would not only have not ruined the punch line, he would've laughed too. Giggled like a schoolgirl and fluttered his eyelashes too, probably.

"Fuck you, Merlin," Arthur spits and shakes himself free of Merlin. "You ruined my joke. Bloody ruin everything."

"Now come on, Arthur," Gwaine says, "that's a bit uncalled for."

"You," Arthur points at him. "You don't get to tell me what to do. I don't like you."

He stumbles away, feeling smug at the shocked look on Gwaine's face, and pretending not to notice that Merlin looks completely wounded.

***

 

The sun is blindingly bright in his eyes when Arthur wakes up, and it takes him a few minutes to register that not only is it 8am and he's late for work, he is also not in his own bed, and not alone.

His head is pounding, and his mouth is so dry that his tongue feels like it's actually stuck there.

"Morning."

Arthur jumps a little when the bloke next to him turns over, and he sees who it is. Gwaine looks perfect and fresh, of course, whereas Arthur feels like he's been run over by a bus. Probably looks it, too.

"Oh God." His eyes dart around the room for his trousers. "Did we?"

Gwaine roars with laughter. "Fuck no. As tempting a prospect as that would be, you were too drunk to stand up last night, let alone get it up."

"Then —"

Arthur tries to rack his brain to remember the night before. The champagne, the joke, Merlin looking like Arthur had kicked a puppy, the karaoke.

Oh God. The karaoke.

"I'd like to dedicate this song to my new best friend," Arthur had slurred, horribly. His father had looked like he was going to keel over from the shame of it all as Arthur had started to sing:

"You walked into the party  
Like you were walking onto a yacht  
Your hat strategically dipped below one eye  
Your scarf it was apricot  
You had one eye in the mirror  
As you watched yourself gavotte  
And all the boys dreamed that they'd be your partner  
They'd be your partner, and

You're so Gwaine  
You probably think this song is about you  
You're so Gwaine  
I'll bet you think this song is about you  
Don't you? Don't you?"

That was the last thing Arthur could remember, because right after the first chorus, he had fallen off the stage.

Arthur tries to focus, and when he sees the Fight Club poster on the back of the door it clicks. Merlin loves that movie more than he loves his ridiculous, sugary drinks that cannot in any universe be classed as coffee. Arthur is in Merlin's flat. This must be the spare room. And he and Gwaine shared a bed last night.

Good. Rather that than — but then why was Gwaine there? Maybe Merlin kicked him out of his bed after they'd — and made him look after Arthur because of fears for concussion. That's the most likely scenario, surely.

"I think I need a shower. And coffee. Where's Merlin?"

"He's gone into the office already. He wanted to reschedule all your meetings because he knew you'd feel like you look right now." He grins, and Arthur wonders just how it is that Gwaine is as fucking chirpy at 8am as he is at night.

"I think your trou are around here somewhere." Gwaine gets out of bed, and he's bare-arsed naked. He grabs a towel from the floor and wraps it around himself, but it seems he isn't really in any hurry to do so.

Exhibitionist wanker.

Arthur looks, of course. He may want to punch Gwaine in the face with alarming regularity, but he isn't blind. The view is definitely pleasant.

"So. Uh. At the risk of sounding like a complete idiot," Arthur says, clearing his throat. "What happened after the — uh —"

"After the impromptu stage dive?" Gwaine asks, grinning. Bastard.

"Yes," he says through gritted teeth.

"Well, your father had you checked for head injuries and made Merlin promise to take you home."

His father. Oh God. Arthur's never done anything like this, never embarrassed himself in front of his father, not to mention the entire staff. And Merlin. What the hell is he supposed to say to Merlin?

Flowers. A card. And a lot of grovelling.

"Gwaine, I'm sorry. About the song and, well, telling you I hated you, and calling you a greasy long-haired cunt. It — wasn't very nice. I don't even normally use that word."

"What? Greasy?" Gwaine winks at him. "I'd probably act like that too if I were paralytic and besotted with my assistant. No harm done."

"Oh for — I am not besotted with Merlin!" Arthur yells, and his voice cracks, making him sound like a 12 year old boy.

Gwaine grins and pats his shoulder. "Whatever you say, Arthur. See you at work then."

He leaves the bedroom in search of a shower and Arthur hurriedly gets dressed and calls a taxi.

***  
.

It's been many years since Arthur last bore the brunt of his father's temper, so it's with a pounding hangover and not a small amount of dread that he finds himself sitting opposite Uther, with his head bowed in supplication. If he doesn't look at him, it'll just be easier in the long run.

So he's completely shocked when, instead of a tirade of expletives and a lecture on how Morgana is a much better figurehead for the family business, and not just because of the 'gay thing', his father is doubled over with laughter. Crying with laughter. It looks painful.

"Oh, Arthur," he manages to get out, "I haven't seen such a truly spectacular display of embarrassing behaviour in a long time."

"You're not angry?" Arthur asks, puzzled.

"Well I was a bit," his father replies, "but honestly, Arthur, I think the shame and the bump on your head is probably punishment enough. I mean, karaoke, son. And stage diving. I had to have Leon explain to me what stage diving was, you know. It seems rather strange to do it in the middle of a 70's pop song about Warren Beatty, though."

"I was not stage diving," Arthur says, rubbing his forehead in the hope that his hangover will go away. It doesn't. "I fell."

"Of course you did," Uther says, placating and completely patronising. "Next time, Arthur, I would suggest staying away from the champagne before picking up a microphone. You're So Gwaine indeed. Quite clever, actually. You're lucky that boy has a sense of humour."

"Yes, well. Gwaine's really just one of a kind, isn't he? I'm sorry, father, must dash."

"Well, if you must." His father waves a hand in the vicinity of the door.

Arthur walks out of his father's office and walks straight into Merlin, causing him to spill his coffee all over Arthur's crisp, formerly clean white shirt.

"Oh God," Merlin groans. "Arthur, I'm so sorry. Don't know where my head's at today."

"Where it always is, Merlin. In the bloody clouds." He sounds a lot harsher than he means to, so he softens his voice a little. "It's fine. I've got a spare in my office. I wanted to talk to you about last night —"

"Uh," Merlin stammers, "can't stop actually. Have to get those files to Morgana, and I've got a lunch date with Gwaine, so I'd better get a move on."

Of course he has a lunch date with Gwaine. Because Arthur was an absolute arse to him, so why wouldn't he want to spend time with anyone but him?

"Of course. And Merlin?" Arthur calls out, and waits for Merlin to turn around before continuing. "Take the rest of the afternoon off and feel free to come in late tomorrow. You deserve it for taking care of your ungrateful, embarrassingly drunk boss."

Merlin's smile is blinding. It makes Arthur's toes curl and his pants are a lot tighter than they were a few seconds ago. He is so completely buggered.

When Arthur gets to his office, he locks the door, shuts the blinds and strips his clothes off. He doesn't do this often, not at work, but he's wound so tight over Merlin that he can't help himself, and with a hand inside his boxers, he strokes himself until he comes, seeing Merlin's smile behind his eyelids.

He wipes himself off with his coffee-drenched shirt, and tries not to think of Merlin and Gwaine, laughing and flirting over lunch, heads pushed together like they always are, like they have a secret that nobody else knows.

***

 

"I can't help but notice, Arthur, that you've yet to RSVP for New Year's Eve."

Morgana is sitting in the middle of his living room wrapping the Christmas presents that she bought six months ago. Arthur wonders how she ever manages to do anything except plan events around key holidays and shop.

"Morgana, I don't even know what I'm having for dinner tonight. Do you really think I know what I'm doing on the most overrated night of the year?"

"How dare you," she says, glaring. "New Year's Eve is a chance to celebrate, it's a lovely night full of fun and dancing and —"

"I swear that you would celebrate the opening of a tin of sardines, if enough people were interested in attending. And it isn't a lovely night, it's a bloody miserable night where you spend the entire party horribly drunk and desperately trying to find someone to kiss at midnight, and if you're one of the unlucky people who doesn't, you feel like a complete and utter failure. It's horrendous."

Morgana arches an eyebrow, "You know, Arthur, there are, I'm sure, a huge number of men who would be more than happy to be your midnight kiss. The idea of you being dateless is just preposterous."

But none of them are the one he really wants to kiss. Arthur really needs to forget about Merlin and move on; this is starting to affect his sex life somewhat adversely, and it's making it very difficult to concentrate at work too. Arthur is, quite frankly, a mess. He blames Gwaine. Before he came along, things were fine. They were manageable. Now? Arthur is obsessed with Merlin's lunch routines, with the way Merlin grins and whispers as Gwaine lounges on his desk, and the texts Merlin gets from him that make him laugh, when he should be paying attention to Arthur.

"Perhaps if you managed to find a bloke to shag," Morgana says, putting all her neatly wrapped gifts in a pile next to her, "you might be able to focus on someone other than Merlin. Which, for the sake of your sanity, I would really recommend."

"I don't —"

"Oh, Arthur. Really. Don't bother. You're completely transparent." Morgana shuffles across the floor till she's sitting next to him, her head on his shoulder. "And an idiot for not even asking him if he feels the same way, FYI."

"He has Gwaine," Arthur sighs heavily, "and I'm not a complete glutton for punishment. I do know when to give up."

"Give up what?" Morgana is shrieking now. "You haven't even tried anything, you utter pillock!"

"Morgana, please. Think of the dogs."

"Oh for the — Fine. You are coming to my party, Arthur," Morgana decrees, "and that's all there is to it."

Arthur grumbles under his breath, but he's secretly glad. Perhaps his sister's right and a drunken shag or snog or anything is just what he needs to take his mind off tall, skinny gits with stupid ears and million kilowatt smiles.

***

 

Morgana is evil. Morgana is a horrid, evil excuse for a sister, Arthur thinks as he walks in the door and comes face-to-face with Merlin.

"Happy New Year!" Merlin yells and launches himself at Arthur, throwing his arms around him for a hug. He smells like pine and sweat and champagne, and Arthur really wants to lean in and taste that strip of skin behind his ear that he's currently trying so very hard not to press up against.

"Merlin," he half-whispers, "I thought we'd talked about the hugs."

Merlin laughs, and his breath is warm against Arthur's cheek. "Like I ever listen to you, Arthur."

"Oh yes," Arthur murmurs into the side of Merlin's neck, "how silly of me to think I was your superior and you might actually defer to me once in a while."

He can feel himself getting ridiculously turned on, just from the warmth of Merlin against him, and Merlin isn't moving away, he's just staying there. Arthur closes his eyes and wonders what would happen if Merlin turned his head to the side. How easy it would be for Arthur to brush his lips against his —

"Gentlemen!" Arthur feels a hand grab his arm, and his eyes flick open to see Gwaine, one hand on him and Merlin and grinning wildly. Gwaine is possibly the worst cockblocker in the world.

"Gwaine. How lovely to see you," Arthur says, pouring as much fake cheer into his words as he can. He pulls away from the two of them, scanning the room for Morgana.

"Arthur!" Morgana comes bounding across to him like some overexcited puppy in Vivienne Westwood. "You're here!"

"Yes," Arthur says through gritted teeth, dragging her away from Merlin and Gwaine. "I see I'm not the only one. Thanks." He jerks his head towards them.

"Oh you're welcome." Morgana smirks at him, and Arthur isn't sure who he hates more: her or Gwaine.

He looks over at Gwaine, who is whispering something in Merlin's ear that makes Merlin double over with laughter.

Okay, no. He definitely hates Gwaine more.

"I need a drink. Or ten," he grumbles, grabbing a champagne flute from a passing waiter. The waiter eyes him up and down.

Arthur takes a sip from the flute, and notices the waiter's eyes tracking the movement of Arthur's throat as he swallows, his lips when he licks the stray drops of champagne from them.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Arthur asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Actually," the waiter says, "I'm rather fond of the view here."

He grins. Wow, Arthur thinks, this guy's smile is fucking blinding. The only person in the world who has a better smile than that is — someone that Arthur needs to not be thinking about right now. This guy in front of Arthur is pretty fucking gorgeous, tall and incredibly well-muscled, and enough of a distraction to make him forget about Merlin for at least five minutes. Which would be really, really good.

Maybe he doesn't hate Morgana after all.

"I'm Arthur," he says, shaking the waiter's hand. He has a very strong grip, and really great arms. Arthur is pleased that he's noticing this guy, because for months he's been completely oblivious to anyone who wasn't Merlin, and he needs this, damn it. He's so exhausted from wanting and having to watch someone else with him when it should be Arthur making him giggle and touching his arm, and —

"Percy." He grins again, even wider.

"Nice to meet you, Percy."

Arthur looks over at Merlin, who doesn't even look up. He's too busy staring at Gwaine, and Arthur decides then and there that yes, a midnight snog is exactly what he needs to take his mind off just how good Merlin looks when he blushes at Gwaine's ridiculous flirting. It's not like Merlin would even notice if Arthur shagged the entire room, and it's been far, far too long.

Percy looks like he'd be a perfect candidate for the job. Someone absolutely drop-dead gorgeous who Arthur isn't completely arse-over-tits in love with. It's been a long time since Arthur's had any sheer, unbridled fun, and he's concerned that maybe he's forgotten how to even have sex, given how bloody long it's been.

"Are you working all night?" Arthur asks, leaning in and pitching his voice low, flirtatious.

Percy shakes his head. "I'm only covering till one of the others gets here, he's working another party till 11.00, so once he gets here, I'm free."

Perfect. Arthur leans in and whispers: "Find me at midnight."

"I will," Percy agrees, his lips brushing the shell of Arthur's ear as he pulls back.

Arthur watches him as he walks away, and decides that the back view is just as impressive as the front.

"Well," Morgana breaks the silence, with a very amused expression on her face, "good to see you approve of my staffing choices."

"You have excellent taste." Arthur grins and takes a sip of champagne; it's lovely and sweet and the bubbles tickle his tongue. He probably shouldn't be touching champagne, given what happened the last time.

He looks over at Merlin, and when Merlin's eyes meet his, Arthur just tips his glass at him and looks away. He doesn't need to spend the whole night mooning after his unrequited crush, not when he has tall and gorgeous and built waiters that he can snog at midnight, and said crush has some great hairy slut all over him, as usual.

Arthur tries to ignore the tight feeling in his chest and drinks again, a big gulp this time.

"Hello, Arthur. Morgana, darling." Arthur stares down at his champagne glass which is still more than half full. No. He can't possibly be drunk enough to be imagining he can hear his father's voice. And it turns out he isn't drunk, because seconds later, Uther is there, embracing his sister while Vivian looks on, fake smile tattooed on her face. Arthur wishes he was drunk. He wishes he was so drunk that he has to be sent to hospital with alcohol poisoning, because it would be preferable to his fucked-up family unit and Vivian together on New Year's Bloody Eve.

Vivian went out with Arthur when he was eighteen, and it was probably the truly awful sex they had, combined with her vile personality, which made it very easy for Arthur to finally admit to himself and subsequently his family, that there would be no Mrs Arthur Pendragon in his future. And in actual fact, he was really rather partial to cock and not at all partial to — that word starting with v.

A month ago, he discovered Vivian hadn't abandoned her gold-digging fantasies of having a piece of the Pendragon fortune and was now his father's latest trophy girlfriend. Even ignoring the huge and very dodgy age difference, the mere fact that his father is sleeping with someone that Arthur has slept with makes him feel a little ill.

But not as ill as Vivian makes him every time she opens her mouth.

"Father," Arthur says through gritted teeth, "and Vivian. How lovely to see you. And unexpected." He looks across at Morgana, who is deliberately avoiding his gaze, and instead playing with the pendant around her neck.

"Your sister kindly invited us for a drink or two to ring in the new year," his father says, clapping a hand on Arthur's shoulder, "and well, I thought perhaps Vivian would enjoy socialising with people more her age."

Arthur swallows and tries not to think about that, lest he actually throw up on his father's shoes.

"I like the music," Uther says, nodding his head to the beat. "Do we call this techno?"

"Dubstep," Vivian corrects him, and her voice is still like nails on a blackboard to Arthur's ears.

"Oh," says Uther, "yes. Quite."

Arthur thinks he much preferred it when his father was gruff and unapproachable and a complete and utter upper-class snob and not going through a mid-life crisis.

"Well it's so lovely you could come, Daddy," Morgana says, sounding forced. "There's champagne circulating somewhere, and the bar's over there." She points across the room and looks relieved when their father nods and walks purposefully towards the bar with Vivian following him, tottering along on her Jimmy Choos.

"Morgana," Arthur inhales through his nose and tries to remain calm, "why in all that's holy did you invite father and Vivian to your New Year's Eve bash? I mean really, please do tell me, there has to be a very reasonable explanation, I'm sure."

"I ask him every year," Morgana says, "and he never comes. It's tradition, Arthur."

"Well, I don't know if you've noticed. But father doesn't really seem to be following tradition anymore."

"I know. I really am sorry," she says, giving his shoulder a squeeze, "I certainly didn't expect him to bring that harpy."

There's a loud crash, and they both look over to see Merlin in the middle of the dance floor, holding two empty tumblers, the contents of which he's obviously just spilled on Vivian.

"You complete imbecile!" She yells at him. "This is a five thousand pound dress!"

"Oh God." Merlin is biting his lip, "I'm so sorry. I — I wasn't looking where I was going. I really am dreadfully sorry."

"You're. Sorry," she says, whispering now, vitriol dripping from every syllable. "I should have you fired, you know. It's a complete mystery to me why Arthur keeps you around, you're such a bloody waste of space, Merlin."

"Oh bite me, you bleached blonde bint. You're so hideous you probably turned him gay."

If Arthur wasn't so angry at Vivian for being such an absolute bitch to Merlin, he'd be roaring with laughter right now.

"Speaking of gay," she hisses at Merlin, "I suppose he does have his reasons for keeping you around. I suppose you probably look rather attractive bent over his desk like the piece of trash you are."

Vivian glares at Merlin and mumbles under her breath, striding away to find Uther. Arthur walks over to where Merlin is standing, but doesn't stop, making a beeline for Vivian. He's seething, more angry than he has been in a very long time, and he doesn't know what he's going to do when he catches up with her, but he's going to make her very sorry, he knows that much.

He doesn't get a chance, because Merlin is grabbing his arm, holding him back.

"I really don't think that's a good idea, do you?" Merlin asks, tightening his grip when Arthur tries to move forward.

Arthur spins around to face Merlin, and when Merlin flinches, dropping his arm, Arthur realises he must be looking pretty fucking scary.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," Arthur says, "I didn't mean to —"

"Turn into The Incredible Hulk?" Merlin is grinning now. "Much as I appreciate you defending my honour in the most Neanderthal display of behaviour I've ever seen? I think I can handle a thin blonde socialite whose only weapon is her toxic personality and her stiletto heels, Arthur."

"I know you can handle her, Merlin."

There's nothing you can't handle, he wants to say, but that doesn't stop me wanting to tear down the world to destroy anyone who hurts you.

"Well, good." Merlin pauses, a thoughtful expression on his face. "She's really very — highly strung, isn't she?"

"Is that a nice way of calling her a bitch? Because she was. Is, I mean." Arthur stops, then grins, wide. "Turned me gay, that was almost clever, Merlin."

They both laugh, and it feels so easy, so natural, and Arthur wishes it could always be like this, wishes he could just turn into Merlin and stroke his hair, brush his lips against Merlin's.

"Can I — uh — get you a drink?" Arthur stammers, trying to shake his mind free of the image of Merlin's lips.

"Drink'd be great, thanks. I was getting a drink for Gwaine too, but he's gone somewhere else."

Arthur wishes they could go back to the time when neither of them had even heard the name Gwaine.

"He's probably copped off with some random," Merlin continues, shaking his head.

"Ha, yeah. I mean — what?" Arthur furrows his brow, terribly confused. 'I thought you two were —"

Merlin laughs. "Gwaine and I? Oh God, no. He's sexy as hell, and a terrible flirt, and that's fun and all, but we're just mates, Arthur. I would never go there. Never."

"Just — mates?"

Merlin nods and looks down at his feet. "I thought you knew that, and I figured you weren't — well — I figured there was no chance."

"Merlin, what are you trying to say?" Arthur feels like he's going to faint. His cheeks are hot and there's a very big knot in his stomach. He's worried his legs aren't going to hold him up much longer.

"I —" Merlin starts, then stops himself. "Maybe we should get that drink first before I lose my nerve."

"Merlin —"

The music stops, and they stand there just staring at each other as the countdown starts. Arthur can't believe this is happening, how wrong he's been and how much time he's wasted.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two —"

Just then Arthur feels strong hands spin him around, and as everyone yells "Happy New Year!" Percy puts his mouth on Arthur's and kisses him, hard.

"Told you I'd find you," he says, filthy grin plastered on his face.

Arthur groans, and turns around to say something to Merlin, but he's gone.

Fuck.

***

 

He wakes up the next morning crashed out in one of Morgana's spare rooms, with a hideous hangover. Tequila is never a good idea, particularly when it's being used to numb oneself after the object of one's affection is just about to confess their undying something-or-other for you and then runs away after seeing you snogging a hot waiter.

Arthur wonders when his life started to resemble a soap opera.

He swears he can taste regret at the back of his throat. And okay, it tastes like tequila and cigarette smoke, but he's choosing to think of it as regret. If things had gone better, if he hadn't been so stupid, he could've been kissing Merlin at midnight instead.

So many wasted months. Years even. And now he's fucked it up beyond all hope.

Merlin isn't answering his phone; he hasn't been since he ran out on Arthur just after 12am like some gay male Cinderella in Chuck Taylors. Arthur has left voicemail after voicemail, the first one fairly sober and coherent, but they got progressively drunker and less cognizant as the morning wore on. Arthur has no idea what he actually said in the last five or so.

He pads into Morgana's room, and sits beside her on her bed.

"You awake?" he stage-whispers.

"I am now," she mumbles, turning over and making a rather sad face when she sees him. "Arthur, you look awful. What happened to you last night?"

"Don't you remember the tequila?"

"I mean before the tequila, Arthur." Morgana leans over and pulls him over for a hug. "All I saw was you rescuing Merlin from Her Royal Bitchiness and kissing that gorgeous waiter when the clock struck twelve. But I know there was something behind all the binge drinking, brother of mine. You're not exactly the most subtle person in the world."

"I fucked up," Arthur says, "really, really fucked up."

"Tell me," she offers.

He tells her the whole story, and after he's done, she just hugs him tightly and strokes his hair. It makes him feel like he's four years old again and she's comforting him like she used to when Uther missed his birthday because of business, or yelled at him when he missed a goal. Or when the children in nursery school teased him for not having a mother.

"If I were you," Morgana says, "I would go over there right now and make him listen to me. Arthur, if he loves you, he'll listen."

"I don't know if I can handle it," Arthur admits. "If he says no, I just don't think I can —"

"I hate to be the one to say it," Morgana interrupts him, "but if you'd been honest with him from the start, none of this would have happened. So either you suck it up, and risk him saying no, or you lose him forever."

Arthur exhales loudly. "When you put it that way, I don't really have a choice, do I?"

Morgana smiles and kisses him, "I just want you to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted."

He nods and kisses her cheek.

***

 

He waits until Sunday to go and see Merlin. Arthur knows that Saturdays are Merlin's relaxing day. He likes to sleep in till 11 and go out for coffee with his friend Will, then go and sit in the park and read a book if it's fine, or look around Tate Modern if it's not.

Arthur knows everything about Merlin there is to know, so how did he not know the most important thing of all?

Merlin answers the door in jogger bottoms, thick socks and a pullover. He looks like he hasn't slept and he's obviously freezing. His cheeks are pink and Arthur wants to warm Merlin's face with his hands.

"What do you want, Arthur?" He sighs.

"I — I tried to call you," Arthur stammers. "I left messages."

Merlin raises an eyebrow. "Yes. I got them. They were a little — scary."

"Oh God," Arthur winces. "I was very drunk, Merlin. Very very."

"Come in." Merlin sounds resigned, tired as he stands there waiting for Arthur to come in, and shuts the door behind him.

There's a fire going in the sitting room, and it feels a lot warmer in there than the rest of the house. Merlin gestures to the couch and Arthur sits down.

"You want tea or anything?" Merlin asks.

"We're not at work, Merlin, you don't have to look after me," Arthur says. 'I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."

Merlin snorts, and mouths "sorry" when Arthur glares at him.

"Anyway, I don't want tea. I just want to talk."

"I gathered that from the number of messages you left me." Merlin is smiling a little, and Arthur gets a hopeful flutter in his belly, but he doesn't dare dwell on it.

"I've been a bit of an idiot, I suppose," Arthur says as Merlin sits down next to him.

"It wasn't just you," Merlin puts his hand next to Arthur's thigh on the couch cushion, and Arthur feels warm all over. "I should've told you how I was feeling. Made it clear that Gwaine and I weren't —"

"And I should've asked," Arthur says, cutting him off.

"Oh well," Merlin shrugs, "it's too late now, isn't it? I'm happy you've found someone, Arthur. You deserve the best. Always thought I was probably way out of your league, anyway. I mean, you're you, so —"

Arthur interrupts, "For one thing Merlin, you are not out of my league. And for another, I haven't found someone else. It was a kiss, nothing more. A stupid New Year's kiss because I was so fucking jealous of you and Gwaine. God, I wanted to kill him for touching you every time I had to watch him do it."

He looks over at Merlin, who looks like he's in a state of shock.

"And you're right, Merlin," he says, moving in closer, so his face is almost touching Merlin's. "I do deserve the best. That would be you."

"I always thought —"

"What have I said before?" Arthur grins. "You're not paid to think. I'm the one with the brains, you're the one who makes me coffee and fetches my dry-cleaning."

"You're a bloody pillock, that's what you are," Merlin says, staring at him. His eyes look a much deeper blue than usual, and Arthur wants to drown in them. He puts a hand out, tentatively and runs his thumb across Merlin's face, along the ridge of one cheekbone.

"I probably am," Arthur says, softly, "and I'm sorry I've never —"

"Oh sod it all." Merlin puts a hand on the back of Arthur's neck, pulling him in to kiss him. Merlin's lips are soft against his and Arthur lets his eyes drift closed, opening his mouth and letting his tongue glide along Merlin's bottom lip before pushing it gently inside.

Merlin moans a little and opens his mouth, letting Arthur just stroke his tongue against his, slow and exploratory, before pulling back and saying breathlessly: "It's always been you, Arthur. Always."

Arthur pulls him in again, and gets Merlin's pullover off, kissing the skin he's just uncovered. Pressing lips against his throat, nipping at his collarbone.

"I have a New Year's resolution," Arthur whispers against the warm skin of Merlin's neck.

"Mmmmm?" Merlin is arching his neck, whimpering a little as Arthur sucks hard. That's going to leave a mark, he thinks, and Arthur can't help but feel a little possessive thrill at the thought of it.

Arthur gets his fingers under the hem of Merlin's t-shirt and strokes at the warm, smooth skin of his belly.

"Yes, my resolution is to get you naked as many times as I possibly can in many, many different locations."

Merlin shivers. "Oh. That's. Uh — yes, that is a good resolution to have."

"It's lucky this room's nice and warm," Arthur whispers, biting Merlin's ear, "because I think that starting the year as I intend to go on is rather important, don't you?"

"Well. Um. Yes," Merlin replies, "there's no point making resolutions you don't keep."

Merlin strips off his t-shirt as Arthur gets his hands on Merlin's jogger bottoms, pulling the drawstring free and pushing them down. Merlin lifts up so Arthur can get them past his hips and Arthur pulls them all the way off, throwing them across the room. Merlin isn't wearing any underwear, and Arthur wonders if this is how he sleeps, naked. Wonders if he wakes up and thinks of Arthur, of the two of them together and fists himself until he comes.

Arthur feels that thought like a jolt to his cock.

He hadn't intended for any of this to happen, but in truth he hadn't really intended on anything past the whole 'turn up on Merlin's doorstep and make him listen' thing. But this has been building for years and neither of them is innocent. Looking down at Merlin, naked and hard and wanting Arthur as much as Arthur wants him, he knows that this is the best way it could possibly have happened.

"What do you want?" Arthur asks, his fingers skating over Merlin's skin, hips and belly, and in between his thighs.

"I want you to take off your clothes," Merlin says, his voice rough.

Arthur wants that too. Wants to feel Merlin against him, skin to skin, nothing between them and he grins, pulls his t-shirt over his head and drops it on the floor. He thumbs open the button on his jeans and pulls them off along with his boxers. Merlin lies back on the couch, pulling Arthur in to lie between his legs.

Arthur puts his hand on Merlin's hip, rubbing the hipbone with his thumb, and Merlin's eyes are dark with need, pupils dilated as he wraps one leg around Arthur's waist.

"Want to come like this," Merlin whispers, rolling his hips in a circle, "like this, like you're fucking me."

"Christ," Arthur grinds out, and he grinds his hips in time with Merlin's, forward and back. The friction of Merlin's cock against his is divine, as is the feel of Merlin's skin against his, and Arthur can't wait to get Merlin in his bed, can't wait to fuck him slow and tease him with slick fingers and cock, get him on hands and knees and rim him until he begs. There are so many things that Arthur wants to do to Merlin and have Merlin do to him.

So much to do and so much time to do it now.

"Where'd you go?" Merlin's barely managing to talk, his breathing harsh and Arthur doesn't think that either of them are going to last very long at all, hips snapping back and forth, more erratically now and kissing and sucking and biting at each others mouths.

"Just thinking," Arthur pants out, "about all the ways I'm going to fuck you. Be able to watch you at work and know how sore we both are, because we've been up all night."

"Oh," Merlin groans, "oh fuck." And that's it, game over, and he comes, spreading sticky wetness between them.

Merlin wraps his other leg around Arthur's waist and whispers, "Yeah, fuck Arthur, can't wait to do this for real after, been waiting so long." He just lets Arthur do it, rub against his fucking gorgeous, perfect skin, their mouths clashing against each other. It's wet and messy and Arthur feels desperate, frantic with it. He loses himself in it, that wave of pleasure that builds and builds inside him then crashes hard, and Arthur comes too, hard, and so loud it should be shameful. It isn't.

Arthur feels disgustingly sticky, both of them pressed together like this with come drying on their skin. Yet he can't bring himself to care, because this is everything he's ever dreamed of, ever hoped for.

"Happy New Year," Arthur whispers against Merlin's mouth as he kisses him again. He doesn't think he'll ever get sick of the kissing. In fact, the only way he's moving now is if he can drag Merlin into the shower and kiss him until he's breathless and the water runs cold.

"And to you too, Arthur Pendragon." Merlin grins up at him. That ridiculous, wide grin that makes Arthur weak in the knees like a love struck teenager.

Merlin's phone rings then. He picks it up and Arthur sees the display says Gwaine. He grabs it from Merlin, ignoring his "Oi, give it back!"

"Sorry, Gwaine," Arthur says, trying to pour as much smugness into it as he can, "I'm afraid Merlin can't come to the phone right now. Unfortunately, he's too busy recovering from the mammoth orgasm I just gave him. Talk to you later, bye!"

"Oh my God," Merlin groans and rolls his eyes, "do you think you could try and be a little more possessive? I don't think he got the message."

"Well —" Arthur starts, but Merlin's glare cuts him off.

"It's just as well I bloody love you, you know," Merlin says, matter-of-fact like he just told Arthur it was Sunday, or he was hungry, or something like that. "No-one else would have you, you utter prat. And no more sodding karaoke, you hear me?"

Arthur grins. 2011 is going to be a very good year.


End file.
